


Exit Strategies

by Dassandre



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Retirement, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 17:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21377815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/pseuds/Dassandre
Summary: If they wanted to laze about on the sofa Q had foolishly agreed to move into his office, James and Alec were required to adhere to one simple rule -- barring injury that involved loss of limb or bleeding that required stitching or the imminent destruction of the warehouse  -- Do Not Interrupt The Work.
Relationships: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan, James Bond/Q, James Bond/Q/Alec Trevelyan, Q/Alec Trevelyan
Comments: 17
Kudos: 387





	Exit Strategies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts).

> Like it says above ... for Boffin. I think he knows why. Hope he does. If not, I'll find a way to drive it into his thick skull. <3
> 
> My thanks also to Springbok7 for the code. Whilst coding is language, they are languages I do not know how to speak.

  
  
  
His fingers flew over the keyboard, strokes just managing to keep ahead of the lines of code that formed in his mind’s eye. 

if ( isset($opts['u']) ) { $mydata['username'] = $opts['u']; } else { $retcode = usage( $debug, $opts['cmd'] ); echo $retcode[1]; exit(1); }  
  
---  
  
He was deep in the zone. A synergy that had been all but impossible for him to find of late. Too many missions. Too few resources. Too much stress. Too much worry. Again. But he had finally tapped into that frustratingly elusive fusion of calm and vision and intellect where his best ideas were conceived -- 

“Q?”

The small part of his mind not devoted to building his creation was nevertheless focussed on it. Knew what was developing through his fingertips, and he was in awe of it. This was something amazing. Something new. Unlike anything he’d envisioned before. The concept had come to him in a flash that morning while he lazed about, satisfied and warm in bed. 

Safeguards that would make the failsafe protocols he had invented a decade ago -- the ones that Silva had bastardised -- pale in comparison. 

$retcode = verifyUser( $debug, $mydata );

if ( $retcode[0] != 0 ) { echo $retcode[1]; exit(1); } else { echo $retcode[1]; }

exit(0);  
  
---  
  
This program could change --

“Q? D’ we have anything in?”

\-- everything ... came skidding to a halt; the slightly whinging query from behind dissolving ‘the zone’ like a lump of sugar in his morning cuppa. 

“‘M peckish.”

Q’s spine straightened and his fingers scraped the slick surface of the keys as they curled into tight fists he barely kept from pounding into the chassis of the laptop. 

Turning slowly in his desk chair, Q glared at the man on the sofa behind him. The sofa he should _ never _ have moved into his office. The bloody thing -- large enough for three, like most things in their home -- was too comfortable by half and had become a favorite napping spot for his lovers. Nevermind that an identical sofa, just as comfortable, sat in the sitting room in front of the telly. 

“It’s _ not _ the same,” the men had declared in one voice. Q had felt a bit of an arse when he locked them out to work, so he had grudgingly agreed to let them relax in the room when he worked from home, provided they adhere to one simple rule -- barring injury that involved loss of limb or bleeding that required stitching ** _or_ ** the imminent destruction of the warehouse -- Do _ Not _ Interrupt The Work. 

Alec’s eyes were soft with sleep, greying blond hair disheveled, face slightly squished from the cushions culminating in a look that made Q think of a rumpled puppy rather than a deadly Double-O, and while that look often evoked in Q a fondness that could overwhelm him, today it did _ not _.

“Did you rip your sutures? Are you bleeding?” Q managed to keep his tone level and even a touch concerned. He was, of course. Concerned. Alec was only two days off a mission in Tel Aviv that had left him with a deep laceration along the outside of his right thigh requiring 15 stitches. And while Q didn’t see any blood seeping through the sleep trousers Alec had pulled on when he left their bed to feed the cats, he wasn’t willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Alec slid his hand beneath the waistband of the trousers and down the length of his thigh, checking the bandage Q had replaced just a few hours earlier. “‘M fine,” he confirmed, wiggling blood-free fingertips in Q’s direction. 

“No bomb set to explode and destroy the warehouse, then?”

Alec’s brow furrowed. “None I’m aware of.”

“Turner and Chagall are okay?” 

Alec’s eyes darted toward the cat bed in the corner of the office where the tiger and tuxedo slept curled around one another. “Seem to be.” Q could hear the confusion grow in his voice.

“But you … are _ hungry _.” 

It seemed to Alec that Q was grappling with the concept, but then he had been a bit engrossed with whatever he was developing on his laptop. 

“Yes.” 

“Oh.”

Now that everything had apparently been clarified to Q’s satisfaction, the sleepy grin returned to Alec’s face. He leaned back against the soft cushions again, twisting to face Q more directly. “So do we? Have anything in?”

Q’s smile, however, was not the warm, loving one Alec had seen that morning when he had returned to their bed to wrap comfortably around his lovers. It was the tight, angry curve Q saved for agents who had failed to respect his minions, his tech, his mission directives, or his patience. 

“I was in the bloody zone, Alec!” Q shouted. “Finally! In. The. Zone! It’s been months. _ Months _!”

“Q --” Grimacing, Alec swung his legs over the side of the sofa and sat up, bracing his forearms on his knees. 

“One rule, Alec. _ One _! What is it?” He pointed at the computer behind him, and though the cursor blinked balefully at the agent, it was nothing compared to the glare from its owner.

“Do not interrupt the work.”

“So you _ do _ remember it! Brilliant!” His gestures were a confused muddle of frustration. “Care to tell me why the _ fuck _ you didn’t tell _ James _ you were hungry?”

“He’s off out. Said ‘Goodbye’ when he went to meet Carrie. Mustn’t have heard him.” Q was surprised. Hadn’t realised James had left already. What had started as a way to keep James from driving himself, and the rest of them, spare during his first year of injury-mandated retirement had turned into a new, unexpected, successful career. His second espionage novel was set to be released next month. Seemed like he was meeting with his publisher, Carrie, every few days as a result. 

“And you couldn’t get up and check for yourself if there was food?!”

“It might not be bleeding, but it does hurt,” Alec said, gesturing at his leg. “Think I did too much earlier.” 

Q pushed his spectacles up on top of his head and scrubbed at his face. He tried to contain the strangled grumble of frustration -- especially since Alec’s ‘too much earlier’ had been fucking Q into the mattress, twice -- but he wasn’t wholly successful. He loved the man. He _ really _ did. But God! 

He slumped back into his chair just as his mobile pinged with a text from James. He squinted at the screen. Something about Carrie setting up a last-minute dinner interview with John Crace from _ The Guardian, _ so he’d be later than planned _ , _but Q was far more concerned with the clock on the home screen. 

Six hours! He had been in the zone for six hours. 

It was now late afternoon, and Q remembered Alec had foregone breakfast in favour of sex and a lie-in and there was, in fact, nothing in the way of quick meals in the fridge or the cupboard for him to eat. Not even pot noodles. Q had used the last of his secret stash last week and hadn’t had a chance to sneak more past James and into the flat.

Alec’s attempts at cooking had resulted in them replacing the hob twice in nine months, so he was only allowed to use the microwave to heat ready-to-eat meals or leftover takeaway. Not that there was much in the way of ingredients for complex meals even if he could cook. James had planned to visit the shops on his way back to the nondescript, renovated warehouse in Lambeth where they made their home. 

Q sighed and settled his glasses onto his nose again. He stood and held out his hand to help his injured lover to his feet. “Come on, then. Let’s get you fed.”

“How much longer?” Alec asked ten minutes later. He was sat on a stool at the kitchen island, his injured leg stretched out alongside it to keep the pressure off his stitches. Bloody thing really did hurt. 

“I literally just cracked the first egg,” Q huffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t think I won’t throw this at you.” He held the next egg in front of him a moment to make his point before cracking it into the bowl. He’d found just enough eggs and cheese to make an omelet for the two of them along with some mushrooms and tomatoes that hadn’t gone off yet.

Alec poked at one of the tomatoes with the tip of his finger, setting it to rolling across the worktop. Q snagged it before it fell to the floor. “Christ, you’re an infant, sometimes. Here.” He placed the tomato back in front of Alec and pointed at the cutting board and knife along with the other tomatoes and mushrooms. “Take care of those whilst I get the eggs and cheese ready.”

“Trust me with a knife, do you? Alec frowned at the tomato.

“More than most,” Q quipped before returning to the eggs.

They worked in silence. Alec slicing and chopping, Q cracking and whisking. 

“Wasn’t what I meant, though.”

Q looked up from the pile of cheese he had started grating. “What?”

“Didn’t mean how long about the food. How much longer d’you think you’ll be Quartermaster.” Alec continued to slice.

“You kidding?” Q scoffed and turned back to the cheese. “Probably die at my workstation.” Alec inhaled sharply and Q immediately wished the words back. He closed his eyes for a moment before risking a peek at Alec. Sure enough, the look on his lover’s face … “I’m sorry. I’m _ sorry _!” he backpedaled. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

A year ago Q nearly _ had _ died at his workstation. His back had become a problem in recent years, and he’d ‘tweaked’ it again retrofitting 005’s Audi R8. Unable to stand without pain, he’d needed to sit his way through back to back missions that ran nearly 18 hours. There had been little opportunity to move, and he’d been reluctant to do so anyway. Unbeknownst to him, a blood clot had formed in his leg resulting in a pulmonary embolism when he finally stood to wrap things up in his office and go home to James.

He was alive only due to the quick treatment he received from the best facility in the city: MI6 Medical. But the first 36 hours had been touch and go. James had been there throughout. “Stalking your room and the Medical corridors like a bloody great panther,” Eve had said later. 

Alec had been on his way back to London after concluding a mission in Volgograd but severe winter storms had left him unable to make his connecting flights. It was something of an understatement to say Alec had been beside himself with worry, and Tanner had needed to be at his most diplomatic to smooth things over with the officials at Henri Coandă International Airport in Bucharest.

It was two months before Q could return to Q-Branch on a reduced schedule, but he was fully recovered now. Was even off the blood thinners. It was a matter of some debate between him and James, however, whether Alec had recovered from it at all.

The heartbroken green eyes that looked back at him across the worktop had Q firmly on the ‘No. Definitely not!’ side of that argument.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed, dropping his gaze to the food. Deciding there was enough cheese, Q set about chopping some fresh chives he’d clipped from the small herb garden James had growing on the balcony. He shrugged his shoulders. “Hard to say how long. Until I cause more problems than I solve, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

Alec set his knife aside. Slicing done for now. “I submitted my retirement papers yesterday.”

Q nearly cut off the tip of his thumb.

“You what?!” The fuck? “Alec!”

It was Alec’s turn to shrug. “Been thinking of it for a while.”

Q didn’t ask why Alec hadn’t said anything. The man had always kept his own counsel on such things. Thinking and planning and researching on his own. If he felt he needed input from his lovers, he’d ask questions in such a roundabout fashion it was nearly impossible to twig to the real reason behind them, but once he’d made a decision, there was no turning him from it. It was maddening at times, but Q couldn’t honestly think of a time when it hadn’t worked in Alec’s favour. At least when he wasn’t in the field.

“So not because of this last mission?” Q nodded at Alec’s injured leg.

“This?” Alec tapped the leg. “No. Not directly. Not as fast as I used to be, though. Tired of getting hurt. Tired of being gone more than I’m here. Being the lone wolf was fine a decade ago, five years ago. Liked the lifestyle. Suited me. It’s a young man’s game.”

At only 46, Alec was far from old in traditional terms, but in the world of international espionage, where a single year was akin to dog years, he was ancient.

“You’re sure?” Q’s voice was breathy. His eyes wide behind his glasses. “Not going to change your mind?”

Alec shook his head. “Not going to change my mind. Asked Matthew in HR to process the paperwork immediately. Texted me this morning it was done. Mallory’s not thrilled but he understands. Tel Aviv was my last mission. I’m no longer 006.”

The knife Q had still been holding clattered to the floor and he gripped the edge of the counter, nearly bringing his forehead to the worktop itself. “Oh, thank Christ,” he said to the marble surface.

Alec was at his side in an instant, thinking he was about to collapse, but Q turned and wrapped his arms tightly about him, pressing his face into the crook of Alec’s neck.

“You’re shaking.” Alec pulled Q closer. “Why are you shaking?”

“The release of years of pent up stress and worry is going to have a physiological response.” The knit of Alec’s jumper received the words.

“Worry? I’ve been in the best of hands these last five years. Yours,” he said into Q’s curls. “We knew what we were getting into, yeah?”

Q nodded. “We did. And I was prepared, as best as I was able, for the possibility of you or James or both dying in the field under my watch, but …”

“No, I think I get it. Didn’t before your clot, but the thought of coming home and not …” Alec’s words trailed off. He still didn’t like to think of how close he’d been -- _ they’d _ been -- to losing Q.

“Reacted like this, too, when the doctors told James he was being medically retired.” Bond’s hip had been shattered when he’d been struck by a car on a mission, and though he’d somehow managed to finish the assignment, the surgeons had to replace his hip, making him ineligible for fieldwork. It had been a long and difficult time for the trio, but they’d emerged from it stronger in their relationship than ever.

“You did? Don’t remember that.” Alec had been present for the news, and James’ apoplectic response.

“I managed to get to a storage cupboard down the hall before I fell apart,” Q chuckled. “James didn’t need to see that then.”

Q pulled back. Alec noticed his eyes were a tad damp. On one level it bothered him to know Q had kept so much emotional stress to himself for so many years, but it was just further proof that Q was one of the strongest people Alec had ever known. The unshed tears, however, just would not do. “I’m here. I’m home,” Alec said against his lover’s lips when their kiss ended. It wasn’t a guarantee of his safety by any means. There would always be potential repercussions for his past actions as an agent just as there were for James and for Q as Quartermaster. 

Q cleared his throat and pressed a final, quick kiss to Alec’s mouth. Quickly washing the knife he’d dropped, he returned to chopping chives. Too many emotions for men unused to sharing them. “Any thoughts on what you’ll do? Because you _ will _ do something. Not going to go through with you what we went through with James those first few months.”

Alec opened one of the drawers on the far side of the kitchen island, one he kept important papers in since he didn’t have a desk. He pulled two small booklets from a folder and held them out to Q who wiped his hands on a towel before taking them.

His eyebrows disappeared beneath his fringe in surprise at the first. “Cooking lessons?”

“More of a series of courses, actually.” Alec directed him to the third page. “With certification options if I want that opportunity.”

Q looked at the course descriptions. They made sense of the page. They made sense in his head. But coupling them with Alec Trevelyan ... 

Code error.

“Umm … Alec. Don’t take this the wrong way. You’ve decades of proving yourself capable of doing and excelling at just about anything you set your mind to, but you can barely chop …” Q gestured at the tomatoes and mushrooms Alec had been cutting. The _ expertly _ sliced and chopped tomatoes and mushrooms.

“Took one of their ‘Try it Out’ classes last time I was on home soil. Knife skills. Seemed appropriate.” Alec’s tone was appropriately smug. “Always wanted to learn to cook. My previous disasters were legitimate attempts at that, but let’s face it, James doesn’t have the patience to teach anybody anything, and you just don’t have the time. That’s not a bad thing, mind. Just the way things are.”

“You enjoyed it?”

Alec nodded, smile lopsided as it got sometimes when he was inordinately pleased with himself. “More than. Already signed up for the first three courses.” He pointed at the course descriptions on the page Q had open: Foundational Culinary Skills, Classical Cuisines, and Farm-to-Table. “Starts in a fortnight, so I won’t be about in the afternoon and evenings for a tad.” 

Q kissed him. “James and I will manage. Want you happy,” he said against Alec’s lips. “And what about this?” He turned his attention to the second booklet and was flipping through it, their snack entirely forgotten. “Massage therapy? You want to do both? They seem a bit disparate, but ...” 

Alec bit his lip and ran his hand through his shaggy hair. His tell when there was something he wanted to share but the emotions attached to it were perhaps too much or too embarrassing. It was surely why they were talking about this now, with James out of the flat. It wasn’t uncommon for Alec to test drive sharing his feelings with Q so he didn’t make a hash of it with James. 

In his own way, Alec was the most emotional of the three men. James the most closed off. Q was somewhere in the middle, an unofficial, emotional intermediary. Well, as much as any British male was capable of being, that is. 

“They’re not as unrelated as you might think.” Alec picked at a nonexistent piece of fuzz on Q’s jumper. Avoided eye contact. “They’ll ... let me ... take care of you. You and James.”

“Alec you already--”

“No. Not the way I want to. Reliable. I want to be that … more than I’ve been. Not just the bat shite crazy one. The one who flies by the seat of my pants. Not that any of that’s likely to change, but I want to be _ more _ than just that. For you. For him, too. We’ve earned a comfortable life.

“Paid for it in blood a thousand times over,” Q agreed. 

Alec took Q’s left hand in both of his and pressed his thumbs into the flesh, massaging the muscles and tendons beneath that tender skin. Q groaned with pleasure at the pressure. “Love your hands. What they do. How they do it. I could watch them move for hours. Have done, if I’m being honest. But I know they hurt you at the end of the day. Worse at the end of a long mission when you’ve been attacking your keyboard for hours on end. To say nothing about your feet, standing on them just as long.” 

He then reached around and pressed the fingers of his other hand into the small of Q’s back. The groan this time was less pleasurable. “This hasn’t been right in years, but you hide the pain well. Think I don’t notice how stiff you are when you get out of a chair. James is worse. You see how much he hurts when he gets up in the morning, though he says fuck all about it. It’s there. Won’t get any better with age. Too many wounds over the years. And you both always deflect when someone suggests you see a massage therapist. Trust.” 

Q chuckled. “Know us so well, do you?”

Alec took a page from what was typically Q’s playbook and merely cocked an eyebrow in response.

Q turned in Alec’s embrace and stared at the two booklets on the counter that represented Alec’s new chosen path in life, fingering their edges. A path, Q had to admit, he had never seen coming but probably should have. He was, as he said, the bat shite crazy one, but thinking back on it, in his own way, Alec had been taking care of them all along. Always there with a hot cuppa or a glass of whisky when they were most needed. An absurd joke or a profane story when neither James nor Q thought they’d ever be able to laugh again. Mind-blowing sex when the mind wouldn’t otherwise fall silent. A swift kick to the arse -- sometimes literally -- when their heads were planted so far up said arses they could see daylight. 

Alec kept a Sig Sauer P220 in a holster behind the headboard and a K-BAR knife stashed between the mattresses to protect what was his, but he also had a jar of VapoRub in his bedside table for Q’s mid-winter chest colds. Alongside it were three extra pairs of readers for whenever James misplaced his in the middle of editing a hard copy of his latest chapter. 

Atypical caregiving? 

Not for a bat shite crazy, Operations Officer who would never settle into a typical retirement any more than his partners would because they weren’t typical people.

And that was okay.

Q looked over his shoulder. “So … did you take a ‘Try it Out’ massage class?”

“Started the first series of classes when I was laid up four months ago.” Alec slid his hands down Q’s arms and twined his fingers with Q’s atop the marble. “Feed me, get me off this bloody leg, and I’ll show you what I can do.”

An hour later, hunger sated, Alec was sat on the insanely comfortable sofa in Q’s office with his injured leg propped up on a pillow whilst he massaged Q’s hands. Q lay with his back against Alec’s chest, snuggled in and supine thinking what a bloody brilliant idea it had been to move the sofa into his office. 

Alec had been working on the left a good twenty minutes, and whilst Q had initially babbled on about the programme he’d been coding earlier -- its merits, how it was going to revolutionise security protocols throughout the British Intelligence community -- Alec’s skill at working the tense muscles and tired tendons from Q’s hand had rendered him increasingly non verbal beyond moans of pleasure as all the pain and tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding onto melted away.

That didn’t mean his _ mind _ was silent, though. 

Things were going to change for them again as they had when James retired. James, who hadn’t been afforded the luxury of deciding when he’d had enough. There had been no exit plan, and it had been rough going at first. Alec knew what path he wanted to take for now. See how it worked. If it played out.

Alec’s plan was the embodiment of the man himself: confident, decisive, and risky. It gave Q leave to think in ways he hadn’t considered before.

If one, then maybe two.

When Alec switched to working on his right hand, Q started a new programme. 

firstline=$(printf '%s\n' 1p d wq | ed -s ${staging})

program=$(awk -F'-p' '{print $2}' <<< $firstline | awk '{$1=$1;print}' | cut -d' ' -f1)

if [ "${quiet}" != "yes" ]; then

echo "Task: '${firstline}'"

echo "Program: '${program}'"

fi  
  
---  
  
His fingers flew over the keyboard in his mind, just managing to keep ahead of the lines of code that formed in his head. 

As the pain eased in his hands, he slipped into the zone. Easily found the synergy that had been so elusive these last months.

How freeing having options could be.

This would be the programme to end all programmes.

His magnum opus.

R would understand.

Mallory less so.

His final contribution to Six.

while [ true ]; do

lastmod=$(stat -c %Y ${staging})

now=$(date +%s)

check=$(( $now - $lastmod ))

if [ "${check}" -lt "${delta}" ]; then

if [ "${quiet}" != "yes" ]; then

echo "Processing...."

fi

sleep "${delta}"

else

break

fi

done  
  
---  
  
His personal exit strategy.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> “If you have consumed what I have laboured and invested in to create, and if you have found any enjoyment in it, please tell me so that I can recharge enough to do this again.” ~ kdreeva via Tumblr


End file.
